


It Happened One Summer

by spacebrock



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Guardians of the Galaxy (Comics), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Alien Invasion, M/M, The Defenders - Freeform, but peter is purely comics, don't @ me about crisp ratt, gotg - Freeform, matt you stubborn catholic dummy, thanks for your time, we are cherry-picking wildly from comics and nmcu/mcu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28481634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebrock/pseuds/spacebrock
Summary: Matt deals with an alien invasion - and an unexpected "guest".Prompts were: Matt is injured; but stubborn, and tries to hide it - badly. And then the song "Suddenly One Summer" by the Motels, and the term 'shelter'. Enjoy!
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Peter Quill
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25
Collections: DDE’s 2021 New Year’s Day Exchange





	It Happened One Summer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_silver_sun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_silver_sun/gifts).



[ _ It happened one summer, it happened one time _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gf0fNT7M1Do)

[ _ It happened forever, for a short time _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gf0fNT7M1Do)

[ _ A place for a moment, an end to dream _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gf0fNT7M1Do)

[ _ Forever I loved you, forever it seemed... _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gf0fNT7M1Do)

**Copper**.

All Matt could taste was copper, for a long while, somewhere on the back of his tongue, coating his senses in another fine haze of red. Always red, with him, always the color of rust he couldn’t see, but he could feel it; every curve, every ridge, all the jagged little pieces, the edges. Over the city, there was a fine cloud of smoke, a haze from on high that made people think end days were upon them, but - 

Matt was still, in his own way, a man of faith - plus, when it came to aliens, he tended to leave that kind of thing to the Avengers. He liked to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground [excluding, of course, the times he gracefully arabesqued between buildings]. He had no doubt he could be more effective to those on the street-level than he could possibly be in the sky.

There was just one problem - a significant problem in that something metallic had lodged itself in his side and thrown a wrench in his plans. And his ribs, for that matter. With the determination of Arthur unleashing the sword from the stone, however, Matt managed to pull the shrapnel free with a twist and grunt, casting it aside with the rest of the debris. The community would be cleaning this mess up for weeks to come - and that bitter little note drove him back to his feet to keep going while he still could, more than anything else.

As he helped the bodega owner nearby barricade himself inside his shop, Matt tried to ignore the agony in his side by focusing on the details. What he could do, what he knew, and how to keep going. Car alarms kept going off, explosions rocked the world overhead, and he could tell from the pressure ringing behind his eyes that there were changes occurring in the atmosphere. One by one, as he worked and loaded up things in front of Ernesto’s door, he tried to ground himself. Filter out; sound by sound, everything around him. There was a cab nearby still playing tinny music from the tape-deck that should’ve given out six months ago from how it  _ whined  _ \- 

_ One summer never ends, one summer never began _

_ It keeps me standing still, it takes all my will _

_ And then suddenly last summer _

_ Sometimes I never leave, but sometimes I would _

_ Sometimes I stay too long, sometimes I would _

_ Sometimes it frightens me, sometimes it would _

_ Sometimes I'm all alone and wish that I could -- _

  
  


In the middle of a sweltering August, there’d been an invasion last year - or was it  _ two  _ years now? It was hard to keep track, given how fast everything seemed to be changing, now that extraterrestrials, so-called ‘gods’, and all manner of chaos had come to light. Matt caught it on the news as he kept his head down between coffees and long nights working cases, preparing for court or enacting his own justice. There’d been Loki, there’d been ‘Chitauri’ [whatever those were], and there’d been more than that - mentions of heroes given abilities through means of strange radiation.

Yeah - that little detail Matt was  _ not  _ particularly fond of. 

Now, in late July, eking toward August, it seemed more had come.  _ Kree  _ was another word he didn’t know, spelled the way that it was. But he had no desire to try and encounter any of them, and they seemed disinclined to come down from the sky. 

That was what he figured, at least, until he turned a particular alleyway - and froze.

The scent in the air was unmistakably foreign, yet in some ways, shockingly familiar. There was sweat, and leather, both things he knew - but then there was...something that his brain supplied as  _ lead,  _ then  _ sweet,  _ then  _ fire,  _ and in trying to reconcile these things, Matt felt like he was about to short-circuit. It was marshmallows and bullets and meteorites and - he didn’t even know what. There weren’t  _ words  _ for it.

Also - his legs were starting to shake, but he couldn’t quit now - not once he realized what his radar; his senses, all of it were telling him: whoever the owner of those peculiar smells was, he was face-first on the ground.  _ I repeat, face-first on the ground,  _ Matt thought dizzily, and, rooting himself more readily on his soles, he stalked forward, determined. 

His disguise was still intact, and, in theory, if he was still bleeding [he knew that he was, but Irish Catholic stubbornness was a hell of an invisible tourniquet], it’d be easily-missed. The important thing was to see if this person was friend or foe - and handle it accordingly.

If he was foe, well - his mistake for daring to leave the sky. But a friend -

“Weird place to take a nap, pal,” Matt murmured - and felt the figure at his feet jar awake. Both hands balled into gloved fists in preparation, but - 

With a little  _ click  _ of sound, something - disappeared. It was the strangest thing, but he could’ve sworn the stranger on the asphalt had his face covered initially. Whatever it was, it vanished promptly - as the other man [he - read like a man, was the only thing that came to Matt’s rattled mind in that moment] jackknifed upright, swiveling to look around.

“...Huh,” came the contemplative hum, “not how I wanted to get back in the ‘New York Groove’.” There was a chuckle, though Matt didn’t share the sentiment. “The uh - the song? No? Okay.” Grimacing, the stranger began pulling himself to his feet - before one leg collapsed beneath him, and Matt swooped in to snag his arm, slinging it over his shoulder at once to brace him. “Whoa. My hero,” the other said around a smile Matt could feel shape every word. Weird place to nap and weirder time to be smiling, he figured, so - 

“Did you hit your head--”

“When I fell out of heaven?” Jesus, but this man was incorrigible. Matt set his teeth and tried again. Nearby, the car radio kept playing, infuriatingly, dragging his attention away from the moment for the briefest interlude:

_ \-- And then suddenly last summer _

_ And then suddenly last summer _

_ Until suddenly last summer _

_ And then suddenly last summer _

_ Until suddenly last summer -- _

  
  


Voice rising just slightly, Matt pressed: “I only mean are you able to walk? Can you list the presidents? I need to get you to a shelter.” Or, more aptly, they both needed to get to shelter because the problem in his side and the ringing in his head wasn’t getting  _ any  _ better. And the taste of blood was starting to come back, which didn’t thrill him. “You got a name?” 

“In order - I can walk, I can’t list the presidents, I should  _ really  _ get back to what I was doing, and yes, I have a name.” That was all Matt got out of the man initially - and, not bothering to wait when it came to peppering him with further queries, he began to walk, in part dragging his new...whatever he was with him. 

“Do you want--” Matt grimaced, shifting Peter’s arm higher onto his shoulders, “to  _ tell me  _ your name? Or how you’re wrapped up in all of this? You don’t seem like you’re from  _ around here _ \--”

“That’s rude,” said the man, then snickered, swallowing. “Ah - Star-Lord.” There was a beat wherein he seemed to expect something, but Matt was far too busy concentrating on the aspects of Staying Upright and Staying Conscious, both of which were proving slightly more difficult than he’d previously calculated. This was why he went into law and not calculus, clearly. The thought brought a delirious chuckle out of him, and Star-Lord pouted beside him. 

And Matt  _ knew  _ he was pouting - like an overgrown boy. It was evident in every word that came next: “you haven’t heard of me? Aw,  _ man,  _ you Terrans are clearly way,  _ way  _ out of the loop…but I’m also known as the Legendary Outlaw, and...Peter Quill,” the last part was given somewhat defeatedly. Matt nodded to himself, nearly tipping them both forward. __

_ Left, right, two blocks, ignore the fact that you’re getting colder by the second, and the fact that you’re assisting a potential...what, space criminal?  _ His heart rate hadn’t changed in the declaration of any of his names, however - and Matt theorized if the man was  _ actually  _ a problem, he probably would’ve tried to pick other things to go by.

Way less...obvious things. 

“And as for what I was doing - well, me and my team - we were just trying to help,” Peter explained, sulk still clinging to his words. “Not our fault Ronan got juiced up on some ancient artifact.” 

“Indecipherable, thanks,” Matt murmured - and Peter seemed to pause without really pausing, his long legs still stumbling to keep up with Matt’s dogged, shorter strides.  _ Not THAT much shorter,  _ some part of Matt’s brain supplied himself, as if that was something to worry about. 

“Hey - are you okay?” Peter asked suddenly, “you’re not looking so great. Do  _ you  _ know all the presidents?”

“Wh--that’s not - I don’t have a head injury,” Matt went with, “I’m fine.” Tried and true, and as always, poorly-lied, but they didn’t have  _ time  _ for this, not when they needed to get somewhere out of the way. At least then he could catch his breath and Peter could see to his own injuries, in theory. He was a grown man, after all - a grown man roughly as tall as a skyscraper, but still - 

_ What was it with tall boys, anyway, that made people lose their minds _ ? Again - Matt clenched his jaw - that wasn’t a  _ useful  _ thought.

“Are you though?” Peter’s voice climbed an octave higher; ever-so-slightly, in doubt. Matt huffed an angry little laugh through his nose, determinedly marching them both down the side-street - so close, so close to home, but  _ shit,  _ he couldn’t take this man  _ home,  _ what was he thinking? “Do you have a name?”

“Daredevil,” he said automatically. Peter’s brows lifted, expectant, and Matt, panting, twisted around in consideration. Could he get them safely to one of Claire’s spots from here? Maybe Frank’s van was close. That thing could survive anything. Then again, so could h--

“Whoa--hey!” Peter caught him around the chest and, with a soft curse Matt didn’t recognize, collapsed on the ground beneath him, cradling the other man in his arms. Matt would’ve found it arguably mortifying if the scent of leather this close wasn’t weirdly comforting; somehow. And, of course, if he wasn’t two seconds from being claimed by unconsciousness at last. Fuck, he’d held out for as logn as he could. 

“You  _ are  _ injured, you krutacking - liar--”  _ What’s ‘krutacking’? _ Matt wanted to ask - just to be a little shit, context clues being what they were, he could probably figure it out - but all he could do was lay there, feeling the cold settling in like a housecat sleeping on his chest. His lungs felt heavy. His stomach felt sore. How bad was it? He didn’t know, exactly - 

Except that he could feel all of it going numb, which - probably wasn’t great.

“Rocket,” Peter said to something; or - someone? Matt wasn’t sure. “We need an extraction. Yeah - dude, I am  _ fully aware  _ there’s an invasion taking place, but - Stark’s people are on their way. NO, I’m not a  _ skrull,  _ why would a skrull - just -  _ track my location and get here. Fast! _ ” Clammy hands found their way onto Matt’s face and -

“Don’t,” he slurred tiredly, “don’t - remove--” The fingers stilled, and he could’ve sworn they stroked either jaw. Petting him. Comforting him. Absolutely baffling him. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Peter promised, and Matt wanted to ask  _ how, how is any of this okay? _ But the energy to form words, like the liquid leaking out of him, trickled away little by little.

The last things he heard as another kind of darkness descended was the same song, infuriatingly carrying on through the city full of screams and alarms:

_ Until suddenly last summer --  _

And then nothing but the drone of foreign engines as the furthest thing from an angel descended out of the unseen sky.

  
  



End file.
